


If Only Burnout Could Keep You Warm

by MagitekUnit05953234



Series: Fires of a Childhood's Pyre [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Absent Parents, Angst, Gen, Hey guys I did it again lmao, Mildly Implied Disordered Eating, Neglect, Overworking, Poor Prompto Argentum, Pre-Canon, Prompto's parents are garbage thanks, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/MagitekUnit05953234
Summary: “Welcome to the Crow’s Nest,” Prompto plasters on a smile at whoever is in front of him automatically, not really raising his eyes from the register. “How may I help you tonight?”The clock might as well be ticking through molasses.





	If Only Burnout Could Keep You Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey, it's me again with another generic Brotherhood-era Prompto fic to uh... well I can't really say "brighten your day" but it's something, that's for sure.  
> No beta, as always. Mistakes are my own!

Prompto’s apartment is empty of most things that make somewhere a home. Friends and family are certainly never around. The only one of the former he has isn’t exactly allowed to traipse around Prompto’s part of town without an unreasonably heavy guard, and the latter haven’t been around in years.

The walls of Prompto’s home are devoid of photographs, of framed memories of a child growing older or a marriage growing closer. Despite Prompto’s hobby being what it is, he doesn’t decorate the walls with his talent. He can't stand looking at half his work long enough to put it behind glass for display. Anyone else who could have recorded his life is long gone. The marriage photos disappeared when the married couple did.

There have never been any pets. There used to be a few houseplants, but they were slowly forsaken with time. A busy teenager trying to fend for himself while still doing well in school is bound to forget watering a silly fern day by day. A pot of dirt sits on the windowsill of the living room. A few detached, shriveled leaves remain inside, half-buried into the depths of the soil by fidget-prone fingers as the sole occupant of the apartment watched the sunrise every day.

The apartment is clean in regards to organization alone, void of even the most everyday clutter. An empty bookshelf sits in the corner of the living room, yearning to be laden with novels or knick-knacks or the type of found objects a child will gift to parents after a day out with friends: a particularly shiny rock, a shell from a beach visit, a leaf patterned with the colors of autumn. The bookshelf —along most other pieces of furniture in the apartment— receives only a thick layer of dust instead.

The fifth floor apartment on the corner of Maesus and Votum hasn't been a home for a long time. It hasn’t been a home for Prompto specifically for much longer.

Prompto starts the day by staring blankly into the cabinet where cereal used to reside. He hasn’t partaken in the luxury of a breakfast that isn’t provided by Noct in quite a while, and this is probably what started that streak. Prompto’s apartment is generally devoid of most foods ~~can’t be getting tempted into overeating, now~~ but  Prompto usually at least has some essentials: rice, eggs, bread, milk, chicken (if it’s on sale), beans, cheap cereals as a treat. Finally running out of those last sad crumbs of generic raisin bran is probably what prompted the divergence from eating breakfast at home altogether.

The cabinet closes with a muted _thunk_ accompanied by a puff of dust. Prompto wrinkles his nose, trying not to sneeze. He ought to clean, to dust at the very least, but he probably won’t. He’s rarely ever in this place anyway what with school and his two jobs. When he is home, he’s either in his room or asleep. Usually both at once. Prompto is constantly… _tired,_  for lack of a better word.  

Prompto checks the clock on the neglected stove and sighs, deciding to just make his way to work and deal with not eating until the day’s out. His shoes, a little too threadbare for comfort, are the only ones by the door. He slips them on and ducks out of his apartment, locking the door behind him.

Once Prompto makes it outside, he immediately regrets not layering something more than his coat over his work uniform. Winter is usually mild in Insomnia, but this year is ridiculously bitter. No snow has fallen, but the temperatures remain stubbornly below zero. Prompto’s coat is thin. He shivers.

Today, his shift at the battered Crow’s Nest one bus ride and a long walk from his apartment has been scheduled ridiculously early. Prompto doesn’t have the coin to eat during his breaks (even with the 5% employee discount), and he really doesn’t have the time to run home for whatever food may be forgotten in the back of a disused cupboard, so he probably won’t have a chance to eat again until midnight, at least.

That’s pretty bad considering Prompto hasn’t eaten since the last time midnight rolled around. It’s a shame he missed breakfast.

Prompto’s long shift slides by in a haze of stress and grease. A second shift, one he’s covering for some older employee who’s just finishing up college, is even more of a mess. Two additional coworkers didn’t show up and didn't bother to inform anyone, so Prompto’s been manning both drive-through windows and the register.

It’s nearly over. Just one more customer and Prompto can go home, scrape up some answers to his trig homework online so he’ll have _something_ to turn in on Monday, and get a few hours of sleep. Maybe.

“Welcome to the Crow’s Nest,” Prompto plasters on a smile at whoever is in front of him automatically, not really raising his eyes from the register. The day has gone by so slowly. The clock might as well be ticking through molasses. “How may I help you tonight?”

Gods, it’s so late.

“Prompto.”

Prompto glances up from where he was fiddling with that one weirdly sticky key on the register. His smile falls a little, imperceptible to most. “Hey, Ignis. Didn’t think this was your type of place. What would you like?”

Ignis looks at Prompto with that weird disaffected look he always seems to put up behind his glasses when he’s anywhere but Noct’s apartment. “I’d like to talk if you wouldn’t mind? I didn’t want to impose on you at home, and I figured I would find you here.”

“Uh…” Prompto glances at the punch-in clock. “I have two minutes until I can leave. Can it wait until then?”

“Of course,” Ignis’s eyes dart up to the electronic menu boards above Prompto’s head.

“Did you want to order something?” Prompto presses after a moment.

“Oh,” Ignis steps away from the counter. “No. My apologies.”

One minute left. Prompto switches off his place with the late night cashier, who thankfully _has_ actually shown up on time. Prompto removes his uniform hat and tucks it into his back pocket. He leaves his hair tied up, the stubby ponytail in the back an unfortunate requirement thanks to his lack of a recent haircut and his unwillingness to wear a hairnet. He has to either wear a net or tie up his hair just to keep the stupid job, and he knows what he prefers.

Prompto finds Ignis waiting for him by the door out of the restaurant, jotting something down on his phone with a stylus. Ignis slides the tiny pen into the casing of the phone as Prompto walks up. “Shall we be off?”

“Sure,” Prompto follows Ignis a few steps into the cold night. “I’m on my way back home if you wanna walk and talk, I guess? Or I can wait here. I don’t mind. I just gotta make sure I can get to the bus stop before they stop running.”

Ignis pauses and pivots slowly. He inspects Prompto for a moment. “The closest bus stop is about two miles away, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Prompto shudders and pulls his coat tighter around him as the breeze rattles the trees lining the street. The wind brings a razor-sharp chill from whatever northern hellscape the Glacian decided to store all her cold ass weather. Prompto’s coat doesn’t help in the slightest.

Ignis blinks. He adjusts his glasses. “It’s twenty after nine. The busses don’t run past nine thirty in this district. I doubt you could catch a bus right now, even if you did manage to get to the stop in the next ten minutes.”

“Fuck,” Prompto buries his face in his hands for a moment and breathes deep. “It’s Late Dawn Day, isn’t it? I forgot that was this Sunday. They haven’t changed the stupid clocks in the restaurant. I took an extra shift and thought I’d have time.”

“The time’s an hour ahead starting early this morning,” Ignis confirms. “Would you like a ride home?”

“I can walk,” Prompto blurts immediately. “Could use the exercise, anyway. Plus I’m sure you wanna get home. Don’t wanna keep ya.”

There’s a flash of odd emotion in Ignis’s eyes that Prompto can’t really identify. “Nonsense,” Ignis says. “It’s no trouble.”

Prompto deliberates. On the one hand, he’s not really fond of making Ignis do any more than the poor man already has to. He always seems so busy. On the other hand, Prompto doesn’t want to walk all the way home. It’s cold and dark, and he has school in the morning. On a third hand, sprouting out from the sternum perhaps, Prompto knows that Ignis isn’t likely to concede. The more time Prompto spends dithering or arguing is more time out of Ignis’s life that Prompto has wasted and can never give back.

“Alright,” Prompto tucks his hands in his pockets. “Lead the way.”

Prompto knows which car is Ignis’s —it’s Crown issue and oh-so-posh, leagues above anything else parked along the curb— but he follows behind Ignis as if he needs the direction. He stands beside the passenger door, fidgeting with his sleeves.

Ignis opens his own door and quirks an eyebrow when Prompto doesn’t move to open his own. “Are you waiting for permission?” Ignis jests, but Prompto’s shoulders slope a little further down anyway. Ignis makes to speak but, quick as a flash, Prompto’s momentary uncertainty vanishes behind a thin smile.

Prompto slides into the car and clasps his hands in his lap. “You know where I live, right?”

“Yes,” Ignis smoothly maneuvers out of his flawless parallel parking job and takes off away from the central part of the city. “You’re free to listen to the radio on the way, if you’d like.”

Prompto chews at his bottom lip, worrying at a sore spot he had bitten through earlier during the lunch rush. “What station do you normally listen to?”

Ignis’s hands tap the steering wheel once, twice. “OGP 121.7, though you can choose whichever station you prefer.”

“I don’t listen to the radio that much,” Prompto clicks on the first preset button to find that it’s the station Ignis named.

“That was “Fall of Barthandelus,” the newest single from Eden’s upcoming album _Orphan’s Cradle_ ,” the radio announcer rattles off the details for a song that must have just ended and introduces another song from a similar artist. Prompto breathes out a laugh when he realizes this is one of those genre-focused stations.

“Oh,” Prompto stills at Ignis’s inquisitive glance. “I just didn’t know you were into this kind of music. Eden is a little… punk-ish, isn’t it? Lots of political stuff.”

“They tend to swing between punk rock and indie rock depending on the album,” Ignis clears his throat. “I enjoy the sound… and listening to the political criticism never hurt. It pays to know opposing public opinion, even if it’s wrapped in a musical container that most Council members would turn their noses up at.”

“Right,” Prompto taps along to the beat of the next song on his thighs. “I’m more of a Vermillion Bird kind of guy myself.”

“They have their merits,” Ignis says, and the rest of the drive is fairly empty of conversation. Prompto leans his head back and listens to the music.

“We’ve arrived,” Ignis’s voice draws Prompto out of an accidental doze. Prompto stifles a yawn behind his hand, then tries to disguise it by scratching his nose.

“Thanks for the ride,” Prompto clambers out of his seat and turns to give a parting wave before realizing that Ignis is also emerging from the car. “Oh! You wanted to talk to me about something, right?”

Ignis nods and follows Prompto up to the door of the rather decrepit apartment building. “May I come in?”

“To the building?”

“To your apartment,” Ignis’s lips turn up at the corners.

Prompto swallows. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. It’s kinda a mess right now though; I didn’t expect to have anyone over, y’know?”  
  
“Not to worry,” Ignis waits patiently as Prompto grabs his mail from the numbered lockboxes by the door and sorts through it, throwing the circulars in the battered wastebin a few paces from the entrance. Prompto emerges from the purge with two envelopes clutched in his hand. One is from his phone service provider, the other is from his landlord. Prompto tries not to think about what new, horrifying financial burden is probably hidden in the papers within.

“We don't have an elevator,” Prompto props open the door to the stairs with his foot and waves his hand apologetically. “Gonna have to get some exercise in.”

“I’m not certain that it’s legal for this building to have no elevator,” Ignis says, his tone indicating that he knows full well just how illegal it is.

“Yeah, well,” Prompto laughs. “So it goes.”

Once Prompto’s apartment door is closed behind him, he sighs and pulls his hair out from its tie, shaking it out so it falls just above his shoulders. “Do you like… want a drink or something? I probably only have tap water which _probably_ isn’t the best around here but I don’t know.”

“I’m alright,” Ignis settles primly on the edge of the disused loveseat dominating the living area. “I appreciate the offer.”

Prompto rattles around in the kitchen for a minute or two before coming out empty handed. He perches on the armrest of the loveseat on the opposite end as Ignis, Prompto’s foot bracing against the front so he doesn’t tip off. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Ignis turns to face Prompto, pushing his glasses up as he goes. “You haven’t been spending time at Noct’s apartment like you used to. He’s becoming concerned that you may be avoiding him outside of school.”

The air freezes in Prompto’s lungs. “He said that?”

“Not in so many words,” Ignis crosses his legs, then seems to think better of it and uncrosses them. “He’s more concerned about your general well being above that. He says you’ve seemed tired lately.”

“Well,” Prompto’s eyes flit around the room, alighting on each empty facet of the space. “I’ve been working a lot. You know how it is making ends meet and all… or probably not, huh?”

Ignis’s brow furrows. “I was under the impression that you’re a ward of the state.”

“Sure,” Prompto tucks a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m a foster kid. What’s that gotta do with anything?”

“Foster parents receive a check every month that covers the basic cost of living for the minors in their care. I know your guardians are often away on business, but surely they don’t abscond with the money?”

Prompto’s insides twist a little. “I dunno. I guess they gotta, since I sure don’t get any checks in the mail. Doesn’t really matter what they do anyway. Haven’t seen ‘em in a long time.”

“How long, Prompto?”

“Few years?” Prompto’s left hand finds the cloth band encircling his right wrist and he picks at the seam. “It’s fine and all. I make it work, obviously. Rent just kinda went up this past month so I’ve been working a little more.”

“You’re sixteen years old,” Ignis says.

“You can work at fifteen,” Prompto’s voice edges just a little too far into defensive. “It’s legal.”

“It’s legal to work _one_ part time job outside of school hours and before eleven at night,” Ignis pauses, his eyes focusing on something behind Prompto. “You’re working multiple jobs, aren’t you?”

Prompto blanches. “What?”  
Ignis nods toward whatever he was looking at, and Prompto turns to look at the apron he had hung up on a hook by the door after his shift at the cafe yesterday. The hook was originally meant for car keys, but Prompto had relegated it to the keeping of bits and pieces of work uniforms. It’s not like Prompto will ever have the savings to buy a car.

“Oh,” Prompto steels himself. “If you want me to quit, I guess I can. It’s only legal, right? I can pick up more shifts at the Crow’s Nest I guess.”

Ignis’s gaze darkens, causing Prompto’s heart to skip leaping into his throat and instead sends it rocketing off toward the sun directly through his ribcage.

“Not after eleven!” Prompto amends quickly, hands raising then stalling in the air, as if he was going to grab something but forgot halfway through the motion. “I’ll figure it all out, I won’t do anything I’m not supposed to, I promise!”

“Prompto,” Ignis’s voice is sharp, cutting through Prompto’s mounting panic. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then…” Prompto’s head tilts to meet Ignis’s eyes Prompto’s posture raises up a little from where he had begun to curl up into himself. “What is it?”

“You shouldn’t have to do any of this at all,” Ignis says gently. “You’re exhausting yourself to make up for slights that should never have been done to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your foster parents,” Ignis says, gesturing around Prompto’s empty home. “They’re failing to provide for you, even with the help of the government. You should not have to make up for it yourself. You should have asked for help.”

Prompto’s bewilderment is clear enough on his face that he almost raises a hand to conceal it, maybe disguise it with a fake cough. He knows that Ignis would definitely see through that, though. “Who would I ask?”

“Your friends. Noctis, in particular, wouldn’t hesitate to bring attention to the proper authorities who could amend your financial situation,” Ignis elaborates. “Myself or Glad—”

Prompto smiles, wobbly but wide. Ignis is so taken back he cuts himself off mid-sentence.

“Iggy, my man. I thought you’d be done testing me after all this time,” Prompto laughs, as if that isn’t the start of what Ignis knows may be one of the worst conversations he’s ever had to have in his young life. Already, Ignis is hesitating, trying to draw together enough of his failing composure to respond in the way Prompto needs.

“What?” Ignis says, his scramble for the right words having gained him nothing.

“I don’t want Noct for his money, okay?” Prompto shakes his head, his toothy smile fading to something more subdued. “I don’t care about his power or titles or anything, I swear. I’m not gonna try to take advantage of him. I dunno what’s changed recently to make you think I might but I’m not gonna. So you can stop with all that, y’know? It’s fine. We already did all that testing and stuff when he and I met, didn’t we? And it was fine. I’m not going to start trying to use him now.”

Ignis is at a loss. “Prompto, this isn’t a test.”

“You don’t gotta keep going with that,” Prompto steps away and goes to his cafe apron, taking it up from its place and folding it carefully. He places it on the table by the door, straightening it out where it’s not perfectly aligned with the corners. “I’m not going to try to ask Noct for money or favors or something, so can we just be done now?”

“What kind of friend would I be if I were to turn _this_ against you for some sort of test?” Ignis watches Prompto continue to fiddle with the apron, now adjusting the arrangement of the straps across the top. “All of us would be glad to help.”

“Why me and not the homeless? The kids who are still sitting in orphanages because no parents thought they were worth fostering? The people outside the Wall?” Prompto abandons his work and turns around, his smile rounding the corner from bittersweet to sardonic. “I’m doing just fine. I don’t need any help. Can you please just leave?”

Ignis dips his head. “If you want me to leave, I am gone.”

“Ye— yeah,” Prompto stammers, surprised at being actually listened to. “That’s… yeah. It’s uh… late, anyway.”

Ignis stands from his spot on Prompto’s loveseat and makes toward the door. “Until next time, then.”

“Right.”  
Ignis goes to open the door, and his hand stills on the knob mid-turn. “And Prompto?”

A beat. “Yeah?”

“Noctis truly would like to see you more. He’s become somewhat truculent in your absence.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It would be preferable for all of us if you were around,” Ignis steps out of the apartment. “Think on it.”

The door closes, and Prompto is left alone. He sighs, dropping down to lay where Ignis had been sitting earlier. “Godsdamnit,” Prompto breathes, feeling exhaustion seep into his bones. He knows he fucked up somewhere in there, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He’s just so _tired_.

Prompto wakes to a buzzing phone, a crick in his neck, and the lingering grossness of having slept in his clothes after a shift at a fast food joint. He blinks blearily at the display of his phone, dug out from his pockets hurriedly.

 _6:14 AM_ , it reads. There are several new message alerts.

 **Ignis (Mon 6:11 AM)** I hope you are doing well this morning.

 **Ignis (Mon 6:13 AM)** I am aware that this is likely a subject you would prefer to avoid, but I feel that I must tell you that I, as a servant of the Crown, was obligated to inform (1/2)

 **Ignis (Mon 6:13 AM)** (2/2) the proper authorities of your foster parents’ improper caretaking behaviors after leaving your apartment.

 **Ignis (Mon 6:14 AM)** Whether you want personal help from Noctis or myself is a matter all on its own, but I am not able to let illegal activities continue.

 **Ignis (Mon 6:14 AM)** A representative of the Crown’s social services will likely be visiting your place of residence within the week to discuss the matter with you. Please be truthful with them.

 **Ignis (Mon 6:14 AM)** It is not exactly within my rights to inform you, but I doubt you wish to be taken by surprise.

“Sweet fucking Shiva,” Prompto sets his phone down on the cushion next to his head and covers his face with his hands. “What the _hell_?”

Prompto’s phone rings once more, this time the familiar cacophony of his 6:15 alarm. He shuts it off and drags himself off the couch. The world darkens at the edges, and Prompto has to grab onto the armrest. That’s right. He didn’t get around to eating after Ignis left.

Prompto forgoes his normal run and takes his time getting ready for school. He can’t even begin to consider the ramifications of what Ignis has done without a blind panic sinking in, so he does his best to take his mind off it. At seven, Prompto walks to the nearest bus stop with a cup of ramen clasped tighly in ungloved fingers. The warmth of the food seeps out through the styrofoam. It’s not the worst thing.

It could almost be a normal day, if not for the look on Noctis’s face when Prompto walks into homeroom.

 _Ignis told him_ , Prompto thinks, and has to consciously beat back the urge to walk right out of homeroom and go hole up in a bathroom or something.

“Hey,” Prompto says, sliding into his usual seat.

“Hey,” Noctis smiles, but it’s thin. “You alright? You look tired.”

“Yeah,” Prompto busies himself with pulling out his books so he doesn’t have to look Noctis in the eye. “It’s just been a long week.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Noctis asks, lowering his voice a little as their class advisor enters the room (a few minutes late, as usual).

Prompto, for once, doesn’t have the wherewithal to refuse. “Sure. Just… later?”

That evening, Prompto skips his shift at the cafe and spends time at Noct’s instead. He passes out on the couch after half an hour, wakes up to a solid meal cooked by a soft but resolutely non-apologetic Ignis, and feels better than he has in months. Prompto’s life may be about to be torn to shreds by whatever social worker is about to waltz into his apartment in a few days, but maybe he can handle it. Maybe it’ll be alright.

For now, Prompto dozes on his best friend’s couch. He stares sleepily at a photo of himself and Noct framed on the wall next to a group shot of Noct, Ignis, and Gladio. There’s a jacket of Prompto’s folded neatly and resting on the monks bench by the kitchen doorway, probably forgotten here a month or so ago.

The coffee table in front of the couch has a slightly-peeling chocobo sticker on the leg. Prompto won it (as part of a roll of similar cutesy stickers) last year as a small prize from the arcade and jokingly affixed it to the wood, promising he’d take it off later. Noctis insisted he should leave it there.

Prompto falls back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This may see a sequel someday. Might not! The fallout would be interesting to detail but I'm also not particularly good at that sort of thing. Prompto definitely has some choice opinions about Ignis's decisions near the end there but he isn't really up for dealing with it yet by the end of this.  
>   
> Follow me on Twitter [@compromisedunit](https://mobile.twitter.com/compromisedunit)!


End file.
